


RAP WON'T SAVE YOU (neither will hockey)

by bestliars



Category: Hip Hop RPF, Hockey RPF
Genre: Doomtree, M/M, Minneapolis/Saint Paul, Minnesota Wild, Predestination, Twin Cities, indie rap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-03
Packaged: 2017-11-23 11:36:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 17,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/621700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bestliars/pseuds/bestliars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zach Parise does not play hockey. Instead he does the next most Minnesotan thing possible, and is an indie rapper. This is what happens when he moves back to the Twin Cities after a long time away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Zach Does Not Play Hockey

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote most of this story during the summer. Since then it has been thoroughly jossed by real life, because in this story there’s a season, and P.O.S. doesn’t need a new kidney, and Cecil Otter’s album actually came out, and Jordan Parise is really in Italy this season, not Germany. Even the weather described has been jossed by mother nature. But really, this is an AU anyway, so whatever.
> 
> Also, I never looked up what the 2012-13 schedule was supposed to be, because I wanted certain match ups to occur at different times from dramatic reasons, and I knew that looking at the schedule would just get in the way. So none of the games have anything to do with reality.
> 
> Stellarer betaed this, and listened to me talk about it for the past six months because she is the best person ever. Seriously. Any remaining mistakes are my own.
> 
> Music is very important to this story. As such I created a sound track, which is available [here](http://bestliar.dreamwidth.org/5612.html) here, along with a mini-primer on the local hip hop collective Doomtree, and some other thoughts on the twin cities music scene. It isn't necessary to read any of this. Theoretically this fic works fine if you know nothing about hockey or indie rap, but if you want some extra background/good music, that's where to go.
> 
> Anyway, I'm just super thrilled to be posting this. It's the longest piece of fan fiction I've ever completed, and it's been driving me crazy so....yeah. Enjoy.

Zach doesn't play hockey.

He always has a good reason ready when someone asks him why. Listing every variation would be boring, a waste of space. It all boils down to one truth: He doesn't want to be his father.

He doesn't hate his father, at least he doesn't think so. He probably loves the old man. He doesn't think about it very much. He just knows he has to be someone else, for everyone’s sake.

The most important fact about his father is that his father played hockey, so years ago Zach decided that the most important fact about himself would be that he doesn’t play hockey — at least until he found something else to do, something all his own.

#

Zach doesn't play hockey anymore.

Rebel spirits aren't just born; they have to grow up. He was skating before he understood that not skating was an option. So yeah, he played a lot of hockey. He enjoyed it. He was good at it. Not playing hockey was a conscious choice he made. Choosing not to play hockey changed his world, it wasn’t simply the way things had to be.

He played for two years at Shattuck-St. Mary's before opting out became an option. If the world had got its way he would have played hockey, but he can be more obstinate than the world when he needs to be, and he knew he needed to be as stubborn as possible about this because he knew he needed to not play hockey because he needed to not be his father. Simple logic. It just took time for folks to catch on.

#

Zach doesn't play hockey much anymore.

He couldn't just quit. Not completely.

He could quit the team, but couldn't cut everything hockey related out of his life. It would have been impossible, considering his family. He could take himself out of the game, but he couldn't make the game disappear.

The division was muddied further by the fact that he was sixteen and boarding school was enough of a bitch without losing the friends he'd made playing. They didn't get it, not really, and he wasn't able to explain it—he still can't, not consistently—but they managed to stay friends. He was probably good for them, a breathing reminder that things existed outside of their sport.

Only sometimes they would forget and he found himself playing pickup games, pond hockey, shinny, just shooting the puck around, whatever. He's still decent; natural aptitude and ingrained reflexes count for something even after he let his conditioning go to hell.

The important distinction is that he's a person who sometimes plays hockey, not a hockey player.

These mean very different things.


	2. CHOICES vs THINGS THAT HAPPEN

 

Life Choices.

If you want to choose a career path to piss off your parents, playing bass in punk rock band is a great choice. That isn't what motivated Zach's decisions; it just happened that way.

 

#

Things That Are Chosen For Him.

His parents may have been flexible about hockey but they were firm about college, which was fine. They wanted him to go to school in North Dakota, because that was where Jordan was going, and they liked the idea of his older brother keeping an eye on him. It was bullshit because Jordan's fairly ridiculous, and Zach never needed any extra supervision. He was completely capable of pursuing higher education unobserved, thank you very much.

However, for all it was his life, it was their money, and he didn't know what he could say to change their minds. It wasn't like UND was the worst place on earth, so whatever. He could stand it.

North Dakota was flat geographically and culturally. He had plenty of energy to devote to academics since everything else in the area was boring as fuck. Homework is an appealing option when it’s competing with cows. That lasted for two years, in which he demolished his general ed requirements before moving on. Jordan was graduating, so his parents couldn't use that as an excuse.

They campaigned pretty hard for someplace in Minnesota, and god, the cities would have been heavenly after Grand Forks, but he wanted to go someplace very far away. He came up with a great speech about finding himself as a man and standing on his own two feet. They ate up like candy, and he found himself with free reign over his destiny for the first time ever. It felt so sweet.

#

Things He Chooses.

Transferring to New Jersey was another one of those things that just sort of happened. There are a lot of these things in his life, or maybe he just thinks about things as happening to him as a way to avoid culpability for his own choices. He knows that at some point he chose to go to school in Jersey. It wasn’t random, but it was a long time ago and he no longer remembers the specifics, and anyway, he was not quite twenty, which is very young, so they probably weren’t very good. New Jersey is very far away from Minnesota, and that’s all he really wanted.

It took him three more years to graduate. His parents accepted the idea that credits transfer strangely, but mostly it was due to indecision. Imagining a future defined by positives instead of negatives was hard work. He had to consider what he wanted, other than not playing hockey, not majoring in business, and not going into law.

He fell onto this nonsensical customizable track that was a remnant of progressive reforms from the 1970s. It involved taking the most creative and least practical parts of three different majors (English, Art, Sociology), tying them together with a bright shiny ribbon, and calling it a liberal education.

Like all the most important things in his life, it is almost impossible to explain.

 

#

  
Things That Happen.

Zach started playing music for real in New Jersey. His history of being a shitty bass player in terrible bands goes back to his preteen years. His brother masterminded a string of garage bands with dumb names which Zach would inevitably get roped into. It was not something he cared about much, but a nice enough way to pass the time.

When he started playing in college it had less to do with the music than the musicians. It was a chance to meet people unlike any he'd had contact with before. People who play in bands in New Jersey were very different than people who went to private school in Minnesota or university in North Dakota. He was meeting people with tattooed hands and pierced lips, dyed hair and sarcastic mouths. It was thrilling.

He remembers one time when his mother visited and met one of his friends. Lisa was a lovely young woman; she was a Women's Studies major and wore her purple hair in tiny braids. Zach can't remember the circumstances leading up to the meal, but he remembers how they wound up eating lunch together.

Throughout the meal his mother asked polite questions about Lisa's major, her family, and her plans after college, following a neat, maternal line of inquiry. She might have assumed that Lisa was his girlfriend; she wasn't. Zach never said she was, but he talked about her a lot and she touched him a lot, so he could understand how his mother could have drawn that conclusion. He didn't say anything to correct her.

After they parted ways he remembers what his mother said: "It seems like she's a lovely girl. I'm so glad you're making friends, dear."

He didn't need her approval, but it felt good. "I'm glad you like her."

"Mmm. Yes, she's very nice, but her hair sure is _different."_

Different was the right word. Zach was filling his life with more and more differences, feeling progressively more comfortable with every step taken away from normal. His parents didn't understand, but that might have been the point.

Playing music was a big step, his own personal moonwalk, putting him on a different planet than the one he had grown up on. One of his first shows with the Devils happened while his mother in town too, but he didn't mention it. If Lisa's hair was different, her youngest son snarling on stage in black leather would have been much too much.

He was a shitty bass player, but a decent, dependable guy so people still wanted to play with him. He wound up hanging out with punk and indie kids who had never heard of J.P. Parise, kids who made fun of his manners, not in a mean way, just in a loud brash Jersey way. For the first time he was making friends that were all his own, who had nothing to do with hockey, who he didn’t have to share with his brother. It felt good. It made him bold and confident, countering the Minnesota Nice enough for him to speak his mind and not hold back.

 

#

 

Multiple Choice.

If he's going to be himself, then he's going to be all of himself, goddamn it. It wasn't entirely intentional but it also wasn't a surprise when he wound up with a boyfriend a month into his second semester in Jersey.

He doesn't want to speculate about any possible damage his hockey-steeped upbringing may have had on his burgeoning sexuality, but he is aware that it wasn't the best combination. It would probably have been easier to realize that he was queer if it had seemed like not being straight was an option. Or maybe not. Maybe it would have been hard no matter what. Speculating makes it seem like something could have been done differently, and he doesn't like what ifs. His past exists as a series of choices and happenings that can't be undone. It's his past, he's satisfied with it, and he wants to leave it alone.

Being bisexual at an all boys school where the word "fag" still got used after lights out was different than being bi in college where he had arty friends who had loud conversations about the Kinsey Scale and went to Rocky Horror Picture Show almost every month. The latter was a lot better.

It wasn't a fast transition, but he went from being a good repressed Midwestern boy to a musician who buys his own eyeliner because he doesn't have a girlfriend to steal it from. That first boyfriend was just the start of things because he's a Kinsey 4 who had been dating girls since he was fourteen. Guys, with stubble and flat chests and cocks, were exciting and new. He had some catching up to do.

 

#

Out. Loud.

Coming out to his parents was not a disaster. That is the best that can be said about it. They didn't understand.

They said they never saw the signs. He said, What signs?

They wondered why he didn't tell them earlier. He said he didn't know, then had to clarify. He had known he wasn't straight, he doesn't know why he didn't tell them. It never seemed like the right time.

The right time?

There were so many questions he couldn't answer.

For the first time in his life Zach wished that winter break was shorter.

When he got back to campus he found himself searching for a method of coping with the different flavor of familial tension. He had only just gotten used to the old variety, then he had to open his mouth again, exposing more of the ways he wasn’t the son they expected.

He wasn't expecting much when a girl in his Post-Colonial Literature class introduced him to spoken word. He expected the attention to be uncomfortable, all those ears focused on his voice, hearing the state of his soul, articulated as best he could. It had the opposite effect. He learned then that standing in the spotlight was exhilarating. He found he liked the pressure. When he had the mic it was all on him to step up and perform; it still sends shivers down his spine.

Spoken word became part of his life, as did the girl from his English class. She was smart, pretty, and a little bit wicked. He wishes he could say that dating her was just something that happened, but he knows it's something that he chose for less than the best reasons.

He was tired of Jordan saying it was fine if he was gay. He was tired of the way that all of his previous relationships with women were considered misguided, though some of them were, but because he was young and dumb, not because he had been gay all along. Being bi wasn't a "first step"; it was the end game, and he was sick of explaining himself.

That's the reason he might have given, if pressed. The other possibility was never thought out, the product of whispering voices from his subconscious, fulfilling a desire he hardly knew he had. He needed to prove to the expansive them, his parents, the fates and angles, et al., that even if he dated a woman his differences wouldn't disappear. He needed to know that he could love a woman and still be queer. He didn't love her, but the experience was reassuring all the same.

They broke up in April with a screaming fight about nothing before deciding to just be friends. He wrote a poem about her and the different ways they used each other. When he read it she was there, snapping along with the crowd.

 

#

1 2, 1 2 3 4 vs infinity.

Zach played in a bunch of punk and indie rock garage bands that were more about making noise and jumping around than creating music. It was exhausting and a little bit violent, bringing a rush he hadn't gotten to enjoy since he quit seriously playing hockey.

He also joined a "collective" some of his classmates put together. It was a lot of music majors and pretentious as hell, but he voluntarily read poetry, and after a couple beers he could talk rapturously about how fucking great Neutral Milk Hotel are, so clearly he never had a leg to stand on. He didn't even play bass most of the time. They were interested in music with a traditional rhythm section as a backbone. They were into exploring a few more of the endless ways that sound gets made. It was an introduction to a whole larger spectrum of music making. He liked the racks of tiny bells and computer based harpsichord sound effects. It started his fascination with machine-made music and the way that beats are produced from thin air.

When the collective disintegrated in the middle of what should have been his senior year he didn't discard these discoveries. There were late nights he should have spent writing papers wasted with only strangely titled GarageBand files to show for it. It was his bedroom-headphone project, done only for his own benefit. He had no intentions for it to take it anywhere.

 

#

Being a punk as a legitimate enterprise.

 

Zach graduated as a member of The Legendary Devil Wranglers. He always kind of hated the name. They had it when he joined and it stuck around. He actually came in replacing the replacement of the guy who came up with came up with it originally. It was a terrible name, but it was theirs.

They played loud simple punk rock music. If it got played on the radio the listener wouldn't be able to guess what year it came from. Only it wasn't anything that would get played on a radio, except for maybe college stations in the middle of the night. The band was a collection of people who should have had something better to do with their time. Amazingly, he wasn't the worst musician. As a group they had more enthusiasm than skill. They wrote all the songs together, little bursts of heartbreak and politics. Sometimes Zach would even sing.

People liked them. It didn't make sense. Zach liked them, because he was having fun, but he never fully understood why anyone else would want to listen to them, but people did. Maybe they enjoyed listening to musicians having a good time.

The audience's motivation didn’t really matter, just their presence. When they played around town people would show up. The guitarist knew a guy with a tiny indie label who wanted to put out an EP. It seemed that if they stuck with it something might happen.

 _Might_ was good enough for Zach. It was better than getting growing up and getting a real job. It was a chance to do something remarkable with his life, or at least exciting. He was going to be twenty-three in July; he had the rest of his life to get things like a mortgage or a teaching certificate or health insurance. It was his life, his decision, and he might as well give it a shot.


	3. Equations

 

+/-

  
Unlike hockey, real life does not produce quantitative statistics to measure success and failure.

The Legendary Devil Wranglers lasted longer than he would have guessed. They broke up the spring before he turned twenty-eight, after it became clear that they would all be happier doing other things. They're still friends, bound in brotherhood, born in adversity, crisscrossing North America in vans that like to break down at inopportune moments, packed between amps and boxes of t-shirts. Zach understands the interstate in ways he had never dreamed possible, but every mile was worth it because it meant he got to play.

The music they left behind doesn't look like much: one real album, a handful of EPs, and more than a dozen singles, most of them vinyl/digital only oddities put out by labels that hardly existed, run out of the basements of enthusiastic music lovers who wanted to help create a tangible artifact. Zach doesn't care what it looks like; there wasn't anything else he would have rather done.

That said, it was time to move on.

Moving on meant something different to Zach than some of the other guys. For the most part they're doing things like starting families and getting day jobs, or moving to Russia. They're not going on to "pursue music." He is.

He doesn't know what else he could do. He had hoped that by the time the band broke up he'd have a better idea of what he wanted out of life, and he does, but not enough to settle down. He's still young; he's still working to speak with a voice that is all his own.

 

#

  
Zee Eh See Aitch.

  
The rap music was something that just happened, but it was his decision to keep it going. He was producing beats and doing spoken word and if you're interested in both those things than you should for sure smash them together and see what happens. What happened didn't sound that bad.

For a long time it was just something he did for himself, a musical record of his mind. It was there when he needed a form of self expression that knew more than four chords. Then the year before last the band took some time off while the drummer's girlfriend had a baby and one of the guitarists got married, and Zach got really incredibly bored. He had too much time, songs sitting on his computer, an internet connection, and it quickly became a thing. He didn't plan on having a side project, it just happened. If he put out an EP he'd have an excuse to tour and getting the fuck out of Jersey for a few weeks sounded like the world's best ever plan.

It was another opportunity to choose a name for himself. He had never used his real last name in music, clinging to a hope of anonymity that would be ruined with a simple web search. With the band he was Zachary Paradise. He had been very young and picking the obvious look alike was simple, the Kerouac allusion was a bonus. He was older, and this project meant something else. He wanted something different, a name that labels him specifically, not a mask to become someone different.

It felt like he spent too much time thinking about names; they're only letters. His name, the part he used every day, was just four letters, z, a, c, and h. They can't be arranged to form any other words. It's the only order where they make sense to the rest of the world. Z, A, C, and H. He dragged them around in his mouth, lingering on the long vowel in the middle. He liked the way they sounded when standing alone, each letter holding independent associations while still being one fourth of the whole.

With repetition they ceased to be letters; they were only sounds. If he spelled them phonetically it was Zee Eh See Aitch, though the last one was a difficult transliteration. The H was hard to handle on it's own, hard to describe, and hard to say. It started simple, eh, but then dragged itself into a conflict of competing sounds that crashed against each other in ways he couldn't describe.

Zee Eh See Aitch: it's his name, more or less, broken down into building blocks. He likes the look of it written out, no punctuation, no initials here, those belong to the old man.

 

 

#

  
612

Life hates straight lines. Time loves to play with people, making the place he ran from into the place where he wants to be.

Moving back to Minneapolis is a smart career move. It's got a strong music scene and a history of producing unconventional rappers. He has connections in Minneapolis. The Devils had played some Warped shows with P.O.S. over the years, and Zach had gotten along with Stef right away. They bonded over being Minnesota boys in dozens of parking lots in the middle of nowhere. He respects the hell out of the way Rhymesayers et al. seemingly willed a snowy Midwestern metropolis into fertile ground for hip hop. From everything he's heard it sounded like a place, where he could be happy, do good work with good people, and generally live the life he wanted.

Only moving to the Twin Cities would mean that his parents are right there. The distance could be driven spontaneously. It wasn't a quick decision to give up the protection of living a flight away. Ultimately his avoidance issues aren’t a good enough reason to stay away.

He moves back at the start of July, just in time to celebrate independence day. He he checks out a park a few blocks away from his new apartment. It's chaos, with loud conversations in multiple languages, and hard to navigate due to the smoke in the air. Punkish weirdos sit next to large Mexican families, brought together to celebrate patriotism with explosions.

He finds a place on the hill, dodging firecrackers set off on the sidewalk. The show is shot over the pond, and sometimes he can't decide whether to watch the display or the reflection. It isn't long, but it satisfies his desire to mark the occasion in some way. It isn't like the fireworks he had seen in the cities when he was younger. He remembers going to Downtown Saint Paul, staking out space in front of the Cathedral to see the show at the Capitol. The crowds were thinner and much more sedate. The colors of Powderhorn Park on the fourth of July are something he hadn’t known about the city. He's excited to see what else he'll find.

He gets back late and looks for dinner, knowing it is a lost cause unless he started grocery shopping in his sleep. He opens his freezer out of desperation, expecting to find it empty even of ice cubes. Instead there's plastic sealed lasagna, garnished with a yellow post-it note reading "from Mom with love."

She had come over the day before to check up on him. She must have tucked the food away after sending him out to her car to claim the last couple boxes that had never made it out of his childhood bedroom. While his supper is heating he opens one of these boxes. It's dusty, held together by electrical tape and the persistent memory of being a box.

He hasn't seen this stuff for most of a decade. There's a handful of hockey trading cards, some of them signed; they might have been worth something if he had taken care of them. There's a couple of Transformers, clothes that won't fit, and worn spiral bound notebooks that he is afraid to read.

Teenage angst doesn't age well, and even if he had been eloquent in high school, he wouldn't want to dig through those thoughts. He's grown since then. He doesn't feel anger or pain in the same ways; they're tempered with life experience and academics. He knows the importance of clinical distance. Occasionally he'll wonders if he'd be a better lyricist if he didn't, but knows it wouldn't be fun to find out.

He eats dinner standing up because he still needs to get a table. He sticks the hockey cards in the frame of the bathroom mirror, puts the old shirts back in the box to drop off at Salvation Army, and shoves the notebooks in his sock drawer. He hopes they disintegrate there. He wouldn't mind the dirt if it means he never has to deal with them again.

Life in the Twin Cities begins to be routine. He steals his old bike from his parent's garage and buys a new lock. He gets groceries; the cupboards are full. He swims in the city lakes because it's so fucking hot, even though they're weedy and disgusting. He spends most of his time on music so he can release something new in the fall to tour behind. He starts mapping out dates but there isn't a real plan yet. He plays a set at Grand Old Days in Saint Paul. It's too hot, smart people wouldn't be out and jumping around in the sun. The crowd is glorious and dumb as bricks. He takes the train downtown to a Twins game with his brother. He learns to avoid University Avenue because of the construction. He's from here and it's easy to think of it as home once again.

His mother visits every week, and always brings him cookies or a hotdish, or once a Jello Salad. It was green and blue, with mandarin oranges inside, topped with whipped cream and mini marshmallows. The only way it could have been more Minnesotan would have been if it had been on a stick, and Zach doesn't even know how that would work.

They are both enjoying the new geography-mediated closeness. She always hated how far away her boys had gone, and with Jordan leaving for Germany soon enough Zach gets to be the better son for once. She takes him to Target to buy silverware that matches because she thinks that's something important for an adult to have, never mind how much the shopping trip makes him feel like a child.

She invites him to come up for dinner every time, and he gets very good at avoiding this without hurting her feelings. He's very busy, that's the truth. She doesn't press him, but she also won't stop asking. He winds up caving once in July and once in August, and after that he just accepts it as a monthly occasion. It's never as a bad as he imagines it will be. The awkwardness is silent, hushed by Minnesota niceness and Canadian manners. For family, they're terribly polite.

By the time the leaves start turning orange and red he's positive that returning to Minneapolis has been a fine choice. Overall, he feels content with the choices he has made. They have all been his choices, so he can love them, even if they sometimes led to some problematic shit. Everything leads to problematic shit and complications, but these ones are his.

He’s ready to live with these choices and not get bogged down. He doesn’t want to talk about homophobia in hip hop. He doesn’t want to debate what’s cultural appropriation and what’s modern pop music. He can own up to his privilege as a white man with an upper class upbringing, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have bad days. Everyone has bad days and dirty laundry and sleepless nights. That’s unavoidable. What he can do is make the best out of what his choices have brought him.

His choices have brought him back to Minneapolis, back to the Midwest, back to the central time zone. It’s the city and it’s his life.


	4. Answering Machine, take one

Missed Calls.

Zach frequently chooses not to answer his phone. There are numbers that show up on caller ID which he'll pick up, but those are mostly business calls. People that he likes tend to text. He purposely dodges his parents’ calls, which isn't good of him, but it's for his best. They get along better when they aren't talking to each other. Jordan calls him from Europe in the middle of the night because he likes to be a pest. Even if he's awake Zach doesn't take those calls on principle. He listens to the message and calls Jordan back the next day when he's sleeping, to get sworn at or leave messages of his own. This reluctance to talk to people who want to talk to him means there’s always something new waiting on his answering machine.

#

From Minnesota.

He gets a call from his father, and a rarity, confusing until he hears to the phrase, "Your mother thought I should..."

Then it makes sense.

The call is extending an invitation to dinner and a Wild game that's recognizing J.P.'s contributions to hockey in the state of Minnesota. It sounds unpleasant and he has no intentions of going.

#

From Bavaria.

Then he gets a message from Jordan, fucking interfering older brother, that changes his mind. He wishes guilt trips couldn't travel across the Atlantic.

"Zach, I really think you should go. Last time I spoke to Dad it was all he talked about. I know he won't say anything, but having you there would mean a lot to him. You can put up with them and the whole show for one night. Who knows, maybe you'll even wind up having some fun. Maybe it'll be a good game. The Wild aren't nearly as boring as you like to pretend."

Jordan is dirty liar who doesn't know what he's talking about.

"You should go. For Dad's sake. And your own. Remember, he's not going to be around forever."

Zach goes. He even wears a tie.


	5. Once more into the breach.

 

A list for mental health professionals.

Things Zach would rather do than spend time talking about how great his father is:

  * Eat raw onions.
  * Listen to top 40 pop at maximum volume.
  * Babysit.
  * Go on a blind date.
  * Scream until he loses his voice.
  * Walk back to New Jersey.
  * Walk to North Dakota.
  * Try to swim across the Mississippi River, current and pollution be damned.
  * Cut off his own fingertips with a rusty knife.



(Half of those statements are false, but it's the thought that counts, and he's really thinking about whether he needs two intact hands.)

He loves and respects his father. He really does, in a complicated way. He just really, really, does not want to talk about it.

It wouldn't be so bad if people knew who his father was as a person, not just a hockey player, and were judging him for that. Zach's sure there are lots of great hockey players who were also terrible people. Tonight he's told again and again, "You're father is so good," and it only refers to his game.

Thinking about what other people think of his father will lead to Zach thinking about what his father thinks about him, and he doesn't want to get caught there. He's a good son in his parents eyes tonight because he's present, but generally playing goal in Europe is more impressive than rapping in their backyard, at least by J.P.'s estimation.

Zach doesn't even want his father's approval, he just wants to stop talking about it.

He doesn't care how many goals his father scored or what teams he played on. What's made an impact on Zach is how the man behaved off the ice, with his family.

This manner of minimizing people to performance statistics is one of the things he hated the most about playing hockey. People saw his game play, and deduced from the number of points he scored that he must be happy.

He can't quantify how much of his quitting hockey was motivated by the desire to end those assumptions.

 

#

Like the people you knew ten years ago, this time with more beer.

After the game there's an unofficial after party to celebrate the Wild's win over Edmonton. Zach goes because his mother asks him to. His parents head home early because they're old and tired, but Zach stays because there's drinking and he doesn't have anything better to do.

Rooting for a winning team feels great. It was a good game. He still loves hockey, which is why the parts he disagrees with are so frustrating. It's nice to kick back with some normalish guys his age and talk about the game. When he was younger it was basically all he did. Now it's a rare occurrence, something special to enjoy.

As the evening wears on the party mixes in with the other patrons of the bar, spreading out as folks leave or make new friends. Some players show up, or at least there's someone in the corner who looks like Cal Clutterbuck. Zach doesn't care; he's been around pro athletes his whole life and isn't impressed. The only local celebrity with the power to make him nervous would be Prince, and he doesn't think he has to worry about bumping into the purple one in a downtown Saint Paul sports bar.

It takes him five minutes to realize that he’s been heatedly defending the Twins to Ryan Suter, star defenseman, not just some guy who decided to pair a Wild cap with a suit. He probably would never have noticed if they hadn't been interrupted by an enthusiastic and slightly inebriated fan asking for an autograph.

Ryan is patient during the scramble to find a sharpie and accepts the praise with an awe shucks Midwest modesty that doesn't seem faked. Zach just smiles at the scene; look, another hockey player. He can't seem to avoid them.

Ryan turns back to him and asks, "So, do you want an autograph too?"

"I think I'm fine."

"Yeah? How 'bout I buy you a drink instead?"

Zach isn't going to say no to that.

Nothing really changes. Zach starts up again, pulling out all the stops on the root for the home team rhetoric, even though he hasn't actively followed baseball since he was in high school. He'd had a chance to catch a few games at Target Field before the summer ended and the view of the downtown skyline alone made the evening worthwhile.

Ryan actually does care about baseball, and he likes the Brewers, which according to the principles Zach was raised by is a poor life choice. It turns into a Minnesota vs Wisconsin debate pretty fast, which could have gotten ugly if either of them cared about football. Zach knows he can win this: Minnesota has culture; Wisconsin has cheese.

At the end of the evening they trade numbers. It doesn't have to mean anything. They're both new to the cities and want to make new friends. Zach could be friends with a hockey player. Ryan could be friends with someone who doesn't want to play hockey. These things happen. Sometimes.

 

#

Weather.

Zach meets Ryan again and the conversation goes just as easily. It's comfortable, it feels as if they have known each other for a long time, except for how they haven’t learned each other's stories yet, and aren't sick of each others jokes.

Zach is unsettled by how well they work. He spent so long running away from hockey; he isn't sure about letting someone so deeply involved with the sport into his life, or at least the possibility gives him pause. He wants to understand their relationship analytically, instead of simply enjoying it.

After the first time it becomes a pattern; they pick another bar they've never been to and drink locally brewed beer and talk about the weather. That is actually what they do. Comparing the different ways fall changes to winter across North America isn't boring and also doesn't require revealing anything intimate. It fills enough space to make the silences companionable instead of awkward.

Zach doesn't lie to Ryan but he also doesn't mention his own connections to hockey, and certainly not his last name. He's sure there are things Ryan isn't saying too, and doesn't really care. Zach's something of a storyteller, and an occasional compulsive confessor, but he strongly believes that everyone is entitled to play their cards close to their chests.

You don't have to be honest to be friends with someone, you just probably shouldn't lie. Or whatever. Zach is just happy to have a social life that involves someone who isn't emotionally invested in idea of Rap Music or defining what those words mean. He doesn't want to have another conversation about what Frank Ocean's coming out means to the genre, it's exhausting.

They go out drinking, and Zach thinks about their friendship as they talk about the weather, because talking about the weather is easy, even when you're questioning whether or not the first snow of the year will stick to the ground. Zach thinks it might, but maybe not. He didn't hear Ryan's prediction. He’s a bit preoccupied and less than sober.

"We both need more friends," Zach says. "You need to spend time with folks who aren't hockey players and I need to meet people in the cities who are in no way affiliated with Doomtree. This relationship good for both of us."

"Sure," Ryan slurs. "That makes a lot of sense. I don't know why you're making excuses though. Can't we just hang out?"

"Yeah. Whatever. Unexplained hanging out. Sounds like a plan."

 

#

Hearsay

For Zach the most discordant aspect of his interactions with Ryan isn’t the fact that the other man is a capital-letters Hockey Playing Big Deal. What troubles him is how uncertain he is of Ryan's intentions.

Normally, Zach is good at reading people, but not Ryan. He's missing some bit of backstory which would have fill in some odd pauses that pass, assuming knowledge that Zach doesn’t have. It sometimes feels like he walked into the second act of a play, and is expected to know the right lines even though he doesn't have a script and missed the beginning.

Zach doesn't follow hockey gossip and it doesn't feel right to google someone who might be a friend. He remembers that the Suter signing caused a stir, making the start of the evening news, not buried in the sports segment. Now he regrets turning the television off after the headline.

There is always a way to find more information without asking for it.

Zach emails his brother because family is important and communication is key. Any ulterior motives he may have don’t change that.

_Hey Jordan,_  
 _I went to the Wild thing with the folks. You're a terrible nag. Do you think they love me more now?_  
 _It was an alright game. Since when was their defense good? Edmonton's kids got battered._  
 _Hope your season's going well,_  
 _Z_

Jordan follows the Wild from across the ocean. He probably can't stand winning, or maybe he just really buys into the Minnesota state of hockey pride crap, but whatever. Zach knows given the slightest opening Jordan won't stop talking, spitting up stats and opinions until Zach makes him shut up or leaves the room.

A day and a half later he gets a reply.

_ZACH-_  
 _you're a great kid for going to that thing. Keep it up and you'll win son of the year no problem. I'm too far away to give you any real stiff competition. Mom can't feed me through Skype, so it would be real hard for me to win._  
 _I saw the highlights online and totally agree with you about the defense. Signing Suter in the summer was a major windfall. He's probably one of the best dmen in the league but he was coming off a of crap season in Nashville and was quite a steal. I have no idea why he chose MN instead of a serious contender (except for the fact that we're great, but still...) Between him, their young blood, and all the former Sharks maybe they've got a playoff shot? I can hope._  
 _Also, Eberle's goal in the second was a beauty. I know you hate it when I ask but how can you not miss getting the chance to score like that?_  
 _Not implying that you wasted your talent or anything. I downloaded your new ep (legally even!) and it seems like real good stuff._  
 _Keep an eye on the folks for me-_  
 _Jordan._

Zach likes having an ocean between him and his brother. Now he feels bad about his life and hardly learned anything. He knows that no one knows. That isn't comforting. He wishes that the Wild will finish last in the league, because Jordan would hate that.

Only he knows that if Ryan is his friend now he shouldn't wish for things like that. It wouldn't be nice.

Zach isn't expecting an answer to his most important question: he cannot for the love of god tell if Ryan has been flirting with him.


	6. Relating multiple subjectivities.

Origin Stories.

Zach gets the story of why Ryan chose Minneapolis in narrative drips.

The first: "There wasn't anything keeping me there," is an answer to a direct question about why he didn't stay in Nashville. It's a sound reason, but the hesitation preceding it convinces Zach that there's more to it.

"I didn't do great last season. Things didn't click the same way on the ice. I wasn't enjoying myself." Ryan says that over coffee a month into their acquaintance, when they’ve reached the point where a real answer is only polite, but there’s still an impulse to not seem vulnerable.

"It wasn't the way it used to be," is another truth that hides a bigger picture; if pervasive melancholy and lackluster performance was a change, then how had things been before?

The sharing, and the evasion, goes both ways. Zach doesn't like talking about himself casually, not when he hasn't had a chance to memorize written words and practice the sounds in his mouth. He can say he left the cities due to a conflict of interests, and that he came back because it was time, and because it was the right place for him to be.

These are all true statements that tell almost nothing.

Zach's gotten good at those in his scattered interactions with music journalists. Considering his work, Ryan must be a pro. Zach wonders if sometimes he enjoys their conversations so much because they're both so good at talking about nothing, but always rejects this theory in the end. Ryan always says enough to make Zach want to know more. He wonders if this goes both ways.

#

Give thanks or something else.

Zach spends Thanksgiving with his parents for the first time since he was at UND. Eerily, absolutely nothing has changed.

His father is unexpectedly enthusiastic about the holiday considering his Canadian heritage. Zach has spent two and a half decades trying to figure out if J.P is really that excited about American imperialism and Pilgrims feasting with the Indians or whatever, or if he just likes the festive combination of food, sport, and beer. He doesn't care anymore, it's just nice to see the old man smile.

Zach tries to ignore the television. Football isn't hockey, but it's sweating out masculine posture, testosterone heavy in the air. His father wants to talk about the Vikings, but the only thing Zach knows about the current NFL season is that the Packers aren't doing well, and bringing that up will make Ryan change the subject.

His mother's cooking is excellent, as always. He cannot tell if he is actually eating her pumpkin pie, or if he is merely remembering all of the other times he's eaten it, because it is completely the same. He is in awe of the degree of consistency.

The best part of the day is leaving. It breaks the teenage time lapse to walk out of the house with a tupperware full of leftovers and no talk of curfew. He had to get back from the cities before eleven, sometimes midnight if Jordan was with him and the plans were pre-approved, but that hardly ever happened. Now he lives in the cities, sleeps buried in their heart, and sojourns to the suburbs are passing pains to please aging parents.

#

Cutlass.

The Wild play the Sabres early in December and Zach has no choice but to catch up with Drew. If he didn't someone would hurt him, maybe Drew, or maybe Jordan, or maybe his own conscience. Drew had always been more his brother's friend than his own, but they've still known each other for a damn long time, and that means something.

The plan is to meet Drew for drinks after the game; the Sabers aren't flying out until the next day. Zach kind of wants to pick someplace weird or far from the arena, but he isn't actually a brat, no matter what Jordan says. He choses somewhere that isn't too out of the way, but odd enough that the jock crowd should be minimal to nonexistent. He doesn't check who won before walking into the bar, which is kind of a dick move, but he knows that Drew will tell him all about the game no matter what, and it's too cold to read the highlights on his phone in the parking lot. Even without that delay he's more than fashionably late.

He isn't worried, Drew can entertain himself. No one's going to bother him--that wouldn't be Minnesotan nice. He'll either get left alone or make some new friends. Zach could have not show up—which had been an appealing prospect earlier, holed up in his apartment, watching the snow—and Drew would have been fine.

Sure enough, Drew's already sitting and talking to someone—only no—Drew isn't talking to some stranger, he's talking to Ryan. Of course he is, because everyone in the NHL knows each other and Zach's life is terrible. He really should have stayed home.

Zach goes over and sits down. He lets Drew buy him a beer and doesn't say much. Neither of them seem to think the situation is weird, so he isn't saying anything. He's good at faking normal.

Getting drinks with Drew and Ryan at the same time fucks with his compartmentalization. Drew knows him too well. Drew knew him when he was young, knows his family. He had a front row seat to most of the awkward phases Zach wants to eradicate from human memory. The person Drew knows is very different than the one Zach is today. The person Drew knows is very different than the person he tends to be around Ryan.

There isn't any reason for Ryan to know he's J. P. Parise's son. His desire to not share this information is pretty dumb, but that's how his life normally works. Ryan and Drew in the same place, debating about Brett Favre, is not right. It is the polar opposite of right. This night is exhibiting Ryan's place in the hockey world, something Zach often tries to forget.

Sometimes he tries to pretend that Ryan doesn't have anything to do with hockey, that he's just a cute boy who Zach happened to befriend. That's even close to the truth. Only Ryan is a hockey player, and Zach has issues with those.

Drew gets up to buy another round, leaving Zach and Ryan alone. It's like normal, he two of them hanging in a bar. Zach should start talking about the snow. They might get some real accumulation over night. Zach had to check whether he lived on a snow emergency route. Ryan's building has underground parking so he doesn't have to worry, but they could still talk about it. Maybe Ryan has opinions about tire chains. Zach could pretend he has opinions about tire chains.

"Are you alright?" Ryan asks. "You're acting a bit off."

That is an understatement, but Zach appreciates Ryan's diplomatic description. Zach's been half present and half nuts.

"Yeah, I'm fine, I'm just thinking about whether the road'll be icy on the drive home." He actually is concerned about this, but it isn't what has been distracting him. He should be honest here, but doesn't want to. He makes himself try anyway because maybe if Ryan has a better idea of what's going on in Zach's head he can fix things so they're less awkward. "It's just—I didn't realize that the two of you knew each other," Zach says.

Ryan shrugs. "We both play pro hockey and we're both from Wisconsin. The world is never as big as you'd expect."

That's the truth. Zach has been confronted by this reality innumerable times in the music world, mostly to his benefit. He's already running into people who know a guy who knows a girl that used to date somebody who once said that Zach was good people. He's made a lot of friends this way.

Zach kind of doesn't want to know, but he has to ask. "Did Drew tell you who my dad is?"

Ryan seems surprised by the question. "He didn't have to? I mean—I already knew."

That is really not the answer Zach had expected.

"Since when?"

"Since always. That first night I hardly knew anyone in the organization so Cal was pointing people out to me, and somewhere in the mix of media and front office people he said, 'Oh, that's J.P. Parise's son. He might be a musician?' and then he got distracted pointing out somebody else."

"Why didn't you say anything?" Zach wants to know.

"I didn't think you wanted to talk about it," Ryan says. "I know that hockey families can be...intense, or at least mine is. I figured that if you wanted to say something, you'd say something."

That’s understandable. Zach hardly ever wants to talk about anything. The whole not-expressing-your-feelings-well-with-words is one bit of the hockey culture that Zach hasn’t entirely abandoned. His feelings are out there on albums, wrapped in metaphor, but rapping about his emotions isn’t the same about having a real conversation or dealing with things in a healthy or reasonable manner.

"We could talk about it, if you wanted to," Ryan says. "I would probably understand it a lot better than most people."

That's true, and semi-precious. Most people don't have the right ideas about legacies and nepotism to get where Zach's rebellion is coming from. Ryan may have not tried to fight it, but he was raised with enough of the same expectations that he should understand.

"That first night I was maybe going to bring it up, so we could commiserate about having weird hockey families, but then you were cool and I didn't want to stop talking with you, and it seemed like bring up your father would have ended that, so I just didn't say anything."

"Yeah, that was a good call." Zach doesn't talk about his family much. "Sorry for being weird about this. It's something that I don't usually share." It isn't a secret; he's talked about his dad in interviews a few times, rarely, but it's not a real secret. It turns up on his wikipedia page occasionally, and he'll edit it out because the fact his dad played hockey isn't relevant to his music career, but the connection is out there for anyone to uncover. He doesn't really like that, he'd rather keep the two spheres strictly separate instead of the Venn diagram of reality, but there isn't anything he can do now.

"Family is just...It can be really weird," Ryan says. "I don't know if any families are really normal, it's just that some can lie and pretend better than others.”

"Maybe we should tell the truth more often," Zach suggests. "I think we could handle it alright."

"Yeah," Ryan agrees. "And I've heard telling the truth is good for your health."

"Where'd you hear that? Because I gotta say, it sounds like made up crap."

"Probably because it is," Ryan admits, and they both start cracking up.

When Drew comes back things are better, almost normal. They do talk about snow chains, about ice and the salt stains that accompany it. Apparently Buffalo winters come on strong and stick around, the way a proper winter should, unlike the mild slush and picturesque flurries that movies use to characterize New York City. They're taking Drew's word for it though, and there's always a chance that he's full of shit. It isn't like they know; Buffalo is pretty far off the path of most tours Zach's been on, and Ryan's always played in the West, and one away game every other year isn't enough to learn a climate.

The weather in Buffalo doesn’t matter, not really. The weather in Minnesota does. Zach lets Ryan bring Drew back to the hotel. He makes his own way home, across the river in Minneapolis. It’s still snowing, which makes the traffic slow even though it isn’t too icy. He parks, making sure that it isn’t anywhere that will get him towed. It’s good to be home.


	7. Answering Machine, take two

Buffalo

_Hey Zach, I hadn't realized that you knew Sutes. I hope it was alright that I invited him? Anyway, it was good to catch up. Jordan worries that you're going to starve to death or something, I don't know, but it was nice to tell him that you're doing good. At least it seems like you are. I dunno. It was a good night. Call me back if you want to talk._

 

Email from Across an Ocean

_Z-_  
 _What the hell, since when have you known Ryan Suter? I thought you hated hockey folks, or something. Or are you just telling lies to not hang out with my friends? That's not nice bro._  
 _Suter is sort of too cool to be friends with you. I don't actually know him, but I'm pretty sure he's way cooler than you. I'm saying this as a hockey fan and as a brother, so you know it's a great judgement._  
 _You know, I think we might have played against him when we were really young? I don't really remember it, but that would have made sense._  
 _Also, DON'T LET MOM SEND ME ANY FRUITCAKE. AND DON'T TELL HER THAT I DON'T WANT ANY. BUT SERIOUSLY, DON'T SEND THAT STUFF OVER HERE. PLEASE._  
 _-Jordan._

Suburbs are not the Twin Cities.

_Zach, honey, I'm about to start my Christmas baking and was wondering if krumkake are still your favorite. I'm going to make some no matter what, but if they're still your favorite I'll make even more. Let me know dear._

MPLS

_Zach, this is Cecil. Are you still in for a tour after the holidays? I'm starting to get some dates lined up. I love this town, but I'm also aching to hit the road. It's gonna be time to go speak to the people, see if they can hear what we're saying. Anyway, give me a call._


	8. Winter arrives, it won't leave for a long long time.

The ground is cold in Minnesota, cotton falling on the town.

They have a lot to talk about in December as the air turns frigid and storms start to blanket the streets in snow. Ryan says he likes the cold and loves the heavy precipitation; it makes him feel at home. Nashville's mild flirtation with freezing overnight had only been enough to mark the season, but here winter is in the wind nipping at his face everytime he steps outdoors. It's a sentiment Zach appreciates, remembering how hard it had been to adjust to Jersey, and later the disorienting shifts as tours crossed from one climate zone to another. Even if the weather is familiar, it’s still cold. Zach spends an afternoon re-equipping himself to survive the season. He sees a scarf that makes him think of Ryan, which he buys, because they can be the kind of friends who give each other presents for no reason. The next time they hang out he shoves it at Ryan, along with a tube of Chapstick because he remembers how Minneapolis winters can burn the skin.

Ryan rolls his eyes says said, "You shouldn't have," but he also wraps the fabric around his neck and smears the balm on his already wind-chapped lips. "People are going to think you care."

Maybe they will, but whatever. He wants to protect Ryan, who's plenty strong. Zach wants to keep him warm.

The next words are "Thank you," but Zach loses track after that, distracted by the movements or Ryan's mouth, it's redder than before. Zach had not planned on thinking about this; he was trying to be a good friend.

He doesn't feel guilty. There's something in Ryan's eyes. This train of thought wasn't intentional, but he doesn't think it's leading towards a crash or a cliff. He doesn't know the destination, he can't see the way ahead because of the way the path turns and bends, but he's pretty sure they'll make it ok.

He still can't tell if they're flirting. Whatever they're doing, wherever it goes, he's enjoying the journey.

#

Blowout.

Zach is lucky enough to live through his first ever Doomtree Blowout in the middle of December. It’s a full week, with each MC playing a show at the Entry, capped off by two nights in First Ave's mainroom. Even in the periphery Zach can see it's all kinds of crazy and magic, and he considers himself pretty fucking lucky to be so close to so much awesomeness.

Wednesday night he’s part of the chaos, proudly having been asked to be one of the openers for P.O.S. After the soundcheck, but before the doors open he talks to Stef backstage. They decide they're gonna start a punk rock band. Zach needs a reason to keep his hard earned calluses, and Stef's not-so-secret ambition is to be in every band ever. They still need a drummer, but they probably know one. They want to find a really badass chick singer too. Zach knows he gets sick of talking for a living, and maybe Stef does too, or maybe he just thinks it would be cool. It doesn't really matter why, because it's a great idea.

It's a really distracting idea, and Zach can admit he needed one of those.

The setting is a factor. First Ave--even just the Entry--is legendary. He's played here before, but never to a sell out crowd. It's his home town, and the scene he's starting to call home, and he wants to be his best.

Ryan is in the audience. It's really neat that it worked out, that Ryan doesn't have a game or a plane to catch, or a practice first thing in the morning. That he has time free nearly feels like it's meant to be, not strong enough for Zach bow to the idea of fate, but enough to convince him it's the right time.

Zach had worried a little bit because this isn't Ryan's normal scene. He doesn't know if Ryan's ever been to a hip hop concert. They've hardly talked about music at all, other than some teasing about Nashville, and Taylor Swift being a Preds fan.

Zach isn't normally nervous before a show. He flourishes under pressure and spotlights. He isn't worried about the fact the boy he likes is gonna hear him rap. That would be dumb. He isn't really nervous at all, it's probably just caffeination, or maybe he's coming down with something. It doesn't matter. It's going to be fine.

If he didn't have to step on stage in a minute Zach would take a moment to consider the dynamics of spectatorship. There's a power relationship between watching and getting watched which he's never thought about before, an oversight he should correct. He knows there's an exchange happening, but he doesn't really know what it means.

This season he's caught a couple of Wild games on TV, paying special attention when Ryan is on the ice.

The whole act of watching is powerful. Because there's always a lot of stuff going on, and eyes can wander, and when they don't...Zach follows #20 whenever he's on the ice. And now Ryan's gonna be watching him, which is only fair, but it's kind of different? Maybe? Only not really because rap is the most important thing in Zach's life and hockey is the most important thing in Ryan's.

Presumably.

They've never had that conversation. Maybe they should. There are a lot of things that they should probably talk about more than they do. But they don't, they aren't, and it's working, so fuck it.

Then Zach's on stage, doing his thing, and it's just like any other show, only better. He feels like he's on fire, in the best way. It's all a bit of a blur, bass and blinding lights, the crowd is full of faces but none of them stand out. He knows Ryan's out there, but it isn't important. It doesn't matter, he'd be doing his best either way. Every night is an on night. Every shift is an important shift. He had that drilled into him early and doesn't want to leave behind that drive, that determination, which he's appropriated from the single minded pursuit of playing his best hockey to the more expansive goal of playing his best life.

The aftershow is madness of the best kind. Ryan can be part of Zach's world here too, because he's a nice quiet midwestern boy. Zach is having a really good night. He likes it when the different aspects of his life are harmonious. When they aren't, and he can't make them be, it sucks. That's why he has issues with parents. But this works because even if Ryan isn't interested in Occupy Homes or wings and teeth he's still an agreeable guy.

#

Holidazzled.

After Blowout there’s a rush towards Christmas where they hardly see each other. Ryan has away games, and Zach has to buy presents, and play in an End of the World showcase. It starts getting dark before four, and everything is generally hectic and stressed.

Zach spends Christmas in Germany because his parents offered to buy him a plane ticket, and he didn't want to be alone. Getting to see Jordan and all of the castles is pretty cool but it seems strange that this year he's leaving Minnesota for the holiday instead of returning to it.

Ryan goes to Wisconsin for a couple days over the holidays and it does something to him. Zach still can't really read him at all, but there’s something. Ryan wears the number twenty, just like his father and his uncle, so you'd think they'd be close. Zach knows hockey families, but he doesn't know the Suters, just Ryan, and it doesn't seem like the visit home does him any good.

He’s pensive. Ryan is normally quiet, but this silence seems forced. Zach wants to fix it, but doesn't know how. He wants Ryan to tell him what's wrong, but he doesn't know how to start that conversation. He doesn't know what they'd say.

They both have New Years parties to go to; Ryan with the Wild, Zach's playing a show. It snows and he drinks too much but not until his set is finished so whatever, it's a good time. He was gonna text Ryan after New Years but Cecil started making toasts which lead to making toasts that rhymed and Zach had to join in and it wasn't until he was getting home at four in the morning that he remembered and by then it seemed to late.


	9. JANUARY

Living someone else's life in miniature.

January is a whirlwind. Zach falls fast and hard for a girl who plays the violin like she's its god. It works for a week and a half, then it doesn't, imploding in the most spectacular way. Zach doesn't consider jumping off the Washington Avenue Bridge because it's been done before, by a better poet than he could ever hope to be.

(There is also the fact he doesn't want to die, but that's hard to remember. At the moment he barely wants to be alive.)

Ryan misses most of the affair on a long road trip, but has a homestand following its conclusion. He comes over because Zach isn't going out, because bad things happen outside of his apartment. He has headphones and drum machines in his apartment, and beer. Ryan brings even more because he is a good friend. Zach tells him this. It's a serious matter; He hasn't been day drinking, it just gets dark early this time of year.

Ryan is a good friend and matches Zach drink for drink, but this turns him into a maudlin drunk who tries to talk about things that aren't drum machines. It might even be helpful advice. Or maybe it's just pain. Zach doesn't know if Ryan's saying this for his benefit or because it's something he has to say. He's content to listen.

Ryan says, "Breaking up is never a good thing. It will always hurt. It'll hurt like a punch to the gut. Like black eye. Like a real dirty hit. Breaking up might be the worst pain ever, and it doesn't even leave a bruise."

Zach agrees one hundred and ten percent.

"You're lucky that it happened so fast. It didn't take long for you to realize it wasn't working. It took you days. Not everyone is so lucky. This can take years." Ryan speaks with the voice of heartbreak and experience. "I'm sure what you have sucks, but it could have been so much worse."

Zach doesn't want to hear this. Zach wants to be told it's not his fault. Ryan doesn't have the information to know if that's true. It isn't. If he wanted to be a really great friend Ryan might say it anyway.

Instead Ryan says "Look on the bright side," which is the last thing Zach wants to do. "This girl was exciting. She was new and you thought you loved her and maybe you did, but she never stopped being something special and new. She never had a chance to get integrated. She never became part of your life."

Zach is staring at the bottles on the table and thinking about how much he wishes she had. She would have fit wonderfully in his life. (No, she wouldn't have.) He misses the possibility of making room for her. (It wouldn't have worked.)

"I know you won't believe me now, but it could be so much worse; she could have been necessary. She could have been the most important thing in your life. It's better that things went to hell now than years down the line when it could fuck your whole life up. What just happened to you is just a bump in the road, not the detour it could have been." Ryan says this like he knows it in his bones. "Trust me, you're going to be fine."

Fine. Zach likes the sound of that. Fine sounds manageable. Fine sounds like breathing. Ryan doesn't sound fine. He wonders how much of what he was just told is a lie. He wonders who used to be necessary to Ryan's life. If this is a detour, he wonders where Ryan had been headed to begin. He wonders if there's more beer in the fridge and if any of the lines he's written lately have been descent of if they've all been whiny moping bullshit, but whatever.

He wonders how long they'll be able to sit like this, silent and unmoving. It's the best he's felt since she left.

#

The bounce-back.

Zach gets over the violinist fast. He leaves on tour, and on the road he has a hard time thinking about anything that isn’t on the road. (Ryan isn't on the road, not on the road with him anyway, but he is around, a new alert on Zach's phone. They send each other pictures of hotel rooms across North America. Zach is neither jealous nor surprised at how much nicer digs hockey players get than indie rappers.)

It's the first serious tour that Zach's gone on without the Devils. At first it makes him nervous and nauseous before it turns out to be just like any other tour, boredom interspersed with shows and goofing around.

By the time he gets back to Minneapolis she is one damn good song about heartbreak and nothing else. It wouldn't have worked, he can see that now. He could see it from the start, but he believes it now. They looked good together in pictures, but not on paper, and anyway, they had a hard time staying still at the same time; every photograph he has of her is a blur. Everything Ryan said was right. It is better this way.

Ryan was right, but Zach hasn’t told him. Outside of the pictures they don't talk, and hardly text. Zach doesn't really know what that's about, and he doesn't have the brainpower to worry about it. People need space. He's betting on things figuring themselves out without his interference.


	10. INTERLUDE: A New Hope.

Ryan likes Minnesota more than he thought he would. He chose it for what are retrospectively bad reasons, so it's good that he is enjoying himself. He wanted to play somewhere where media would ignore him for the most part. He knows this is not a smart way to make a major career decision. It would have been smarter to play somewhere that he could win more cups or earn more money, but after the disaster that had been the last season in Nashville he hardly cared about either.

Minnesota could use him, and that was good enough. All he was looking for was a place to play hockey and put the past behind him.

Nashville was great, but after a while there was too much baggage. When there are more negative than positive associations it's time to move on.

Every time he says Nashville he really means Shea; the two are indivisible. It's easy to say he used to love Nashville. It's hard for him to say anything about Shea.

It would have been easier if things had been horrible, but they weren't, not until the very end.  
They were never unhappy together; the unhappiness started when they started falling apart. Ryan had known where they were headed for a long time before it actually happened. It was like he could see the future. It was horrible.

(One winter evening he and Zach talked about superheroes. Zach said that he would rather be able to disappear than fly.

Ryan wasn’t surprised.

Zach said, "Sometimes I stand very still and imagine myself disappearing. Sometimes it feels like if I try hard enough I can make this happen."

Ryan understood. He thinks that the strongest superpower might be the human imagination. He said to Zach, "Never ask for the gift of foresight. Promise me that."

He wasn't sure if Zach understood, but he said, "I promise," in a low, serious voice, and that was enough to make Ryan believe.)

Ryan could see the future, and in the future everything would have gone to hell because he didn't hate what he was and that made Shea uncomfortable. It always had but as they got older Ryan found himself feeling less shame and Shea started agreeing to go on blind dates with women in their teammates’ wives’ book clubs. Clearly the situation was not sustainable. Something would would have to change.

They had argued at the end of the previous season but it didn't come to anything because they were still so in love that it was easy to brush things under the rug. It's a fact of life that people argue; it's part of being in a relationship with another living breathing human being and not a robot or a rag doll. They spent the summer taking deep calming breaths and assuring themselves that everything would work out fine, because they loved each other, and that should be enough.  
Love should make things easy. Love should always come first. Neither of those things are true.

Then You Can Play happened and fuck. Ryan thought it was great, a real step forward for the hockey world. Shea thought it was terrifying.

They started talking about the future. It became the subject of whispered conversations, not just Ryan's nightmares. They talked about the future and Ryan said maybe someday, not anytime soon, but someday, after they had new contracts, or maybe after they retired, maybe someday they would want to come out. Or maybe just stop pretending. They could live in one house and when someone assumed they were single because there aren't any girls on their arms they could say those assumptions were wrong.

Ryan wasn't asking Shea to come out, he was just talking about someday.

But Shea took it as a question and said no. Absolutely not.

And that was the end of that.

Oh, they tried for a while longer, counting on compromise to see them through, making proposals and counter offers, but romantic relationships can't always workout like contract negotiation and these conversations just drove them further and further apart. It made them put all their cards on the table and it became clear how few of the same things they wanted. They still loved each other, yes, very much, but eventually it didn't matter because they started to hate each other too and slowly the scales started to tip.

By the time the season ended Ryan was ready to be out of there. They'd played like crap, because it's hard to be in sync with someone who you can't look in the eye.

He signed with Minnesota for a couple of years because it was close to home and came with lower expectations. He wanted to play hard, he wanted to win the cup, but he also needed a chance to stitch his insides back together.

The Twin Cities turned out so much better than he thought they would. Jared is young, but he knows what he's doing, and it's fun to play with someone who isn't Shea. The former Sharks seem to have some weird post-California dementia going on that Ryan doesn't want to understand, but they're good guys. The whole team is, and the state is good to them. It's nice to be appreciated.

His midwesternness fits naturally here; it's easy to feel like he belongs. It would be very easy to make this place his home.

And Zach...Zach is a good friend, and something he did not expected to find.


	11. Pages About the Cities

Almost to Lagoon

Zach misses the Twin Cities while he's on tour. He hadn't realized how quickly he had reattached to the place. For the first time in years he was homesick.

North Dakota had never felt like home. It had felt like an academic layover, or on bad days a punishment. Eventually it got comfortable, and sometimes he had fun, but it was never home. New Jersey had been home, but that had been community, not geography. He was at home with the Devils and the scene, not in the place itself. When he went on tour while living in Jersey he always brought that community with him. Traveling with the band could make any town feel like home.

This tour takes them through New Jersey and the crowd is full of familiar faces. They hang out after the show and Zach knows the in jokes, is making in jokes of his own. He doesn't have to explain himself, they already know. It's a good feeling.

The next morning, on the drive into New York, Zach dreams of the intersection of Lake Street and Hennepin, waiting for the light to change forever. Walking endlessly in squares should be frustrating, but he doesn't mind. He waits in the hot sun or the freezing cold as the weather changes around him. He's content to watch the traffic, cars and bikes and buses, every fifteen minutes the eastbound 21 takes a wide left turn. Walk. Don't walk. The street lights turn yellow, red, green, choreographing the four way stop. It doesn't feel like he's stuck; it feels like he's where he belongs.

  
#

The Right Answers

The Wild are in the middle of a road trip when Zach gets home. He's back in the land of slush while Ryan is in California, and sending him pictures from the beach, the bastard. Zach wishes he was still on tour someplace Southern and warm, but he isn't. Instead he gets to sit down in a little coffee shop with an interviewer from the City Pages to talk about stuff.

He’s posed familiar questions and mostly gives familiar answers. "Moving back to Minneapolis was an easy adjustment." "It is very different than New Jersey." "I don't know if I would say people are nicer here. I knew great people in Jersey and I know great people here." "Yes, people here are very nice." "Yes, I know it's a stereotype. It's very funny. We're all so nice," He says, because most people are, and he's very nice, nice enough to answer stupid questions without sounding bored. He thinks he can talk about being Minnesotan without being boring.

"I'm very conscious about being Minnesotan, about being American. My father is Canadian, which is weird, because that’s a whole other country, right? And really it’s not so different, but then again it is. It would be very easy for me to become a Canadian citizen, which I sometimes think about when America gets to be too much. What I’ve realized is that I can’t separate myself from the country or the state. I couldn't be from anywhere else.” That is the goddamned truth. "It doesn't define me; I define it. I'm a Minnesotan and this is what I'm doing, therefore it's a Minnesotan thing to do. It's also very Minnesotan to do something else. I wouldn't want to step on anyone's toes."

"Of course you wouldn't,” the journalist says, “that wouldn't be nice."

He embraces America and Minnesota, the good and the bad, the history of colonialism and dull Lutheran morality along with the promise of freedom, the unwavering friendliness, and the inability to say goodbye.

The interviewer isn't from Minnesota, isn't even from the Midwest. As they wrap up Zach teaches him about Minnesota goodbyes. "They key to a Minnesota Goodbye is to drag it on as long as you can. You say goodbye at the table, then at the door, then walk your guest out to the car. Then another hug, then wave as they drive away. Sometimes it means asking for a phone call to make sure they get home alright, because we get ice and snow on the streets, so who knows what'll happen. Then once you're sure they're safe inside don't hurry to hang up, keep talking, something might have happened since they left, or anyway, it's only polite to ask.”

It seems that the interviewer doesn't have anything to say to that. Zach smiles because he wants to, there isn't anyone looking, he's talking to someone very far away.

The silence might be awkward, but not from where Zach's standing.

#

  
It's a game. Yeah, right.

Zach hadn’t followed the Wild closely on tour, but he’d heard they were doing good. He had mostly tracked wins and losses through Ryan's mood, but there's a copy of the Star Tribune on the next table of the coffee shop where he's waiting to meet Stef. He looks in the sports section because real news is depressing, and Variety is trying to convince folks that Owl City is important to the local scene and he doesn't like lies. The sports section is a safe choice. He shouldn't find anything upsetting within it.

It turns out that yeah, the Wild are doing pretty damn good, especially compared to where they were last year. He'd had to listen to Jordan and his dad talk over Christmas, but he'd written their enthusiasm off as optimism, not an accurate representation of what had been happening on the ice. The Wild aren’t the best, but they are in the thick of things, fighting for a playoff spot.

Zach is impressed, and strangely proud of Ryan, whom the paper credited with making things happen. Then it hit him in a way it hadn't since the beginning, that Ryan isn’t just a fellow chill midwesterner, and his friend, but an NHL All Star. The guy he'd spent the morning trading texts about the windchill has an Olympic medal.

Zach doesn’t understand what they’re doing.

They’re definitely flirting. Maybe they hadn't been in the beginning, but they sure are now.

If Zach made a list of things he absolutely did not want to do, dating a pro hockey player would be towards the top. That is actually not true. Dating a hockey player wouldn't be anywhere on the list, because he would never have thought of it, because clearly it's a terrible idea, because hockey players are all straight so how could Zach date one?

That wouldn't make any sense.

It also isn't also true, just popular perception. Zach isn't sure of the exact numbers but he knows it would be wildly statistically unlikely that everyone in the NHL is totally straight. He knows that human sexuality is not a carved in stone but malleable in flesh, shifting like muscles under skin.

Beyond that there is his own personal experiences of being an excellent hockey player and attracted to boys at the same time. He knows it's possible, but he also knows that it's something that simply isn't done.

Stef bangs a cup down on the table and pulls him away from extending the metaphor any further. "What's up?"

"It would be really Freudian and probably unfair to blame all my present problems on my father, right?"

"Probably,” Stef admits, “but if it works for you, go with it."

Zach sighs. "I tried. I really have, but it isn't working for me."

"I guess that means you'll have to do find another scapegoat, or, like, deal with your issues."

"That sounds terrible."

Stef shrugs. "It could be worse. Your father could actually be responsible for all of your shit. That would be pretty bad too."

"Did I ever tell you my dad was a pro hockey player?" Zach asks. It isn't something he normally shares with people, but he's been friends with Stef for a while, and sometimes it shows up in his Wikipedia bio, so it isn't exactly a secret. "He played for the North Stars, back in the day. He retired before I was born but that just meant he was a retired hockey player, which is still a hockey player, and hockey players’ sons are supposed to play hockey." Zach is still amazed at the closed loop of the hockey world, the subtle and unsubtle ways that breeding really does make a difference. "I was even pretty good."

"That's a shock," Stef teases. Zach rolls his eyes, but he isn’t going to defend his skills in a sport he worked diligently to distance himself from.

"That was a different sort of childhood I'd bet," Stef says.

"Yeah. I quit playing it in high school, and he was my coach." Zach still thinks this was the hardest and most pivotal action he's ever taken. "I still don't think he understands why I did it."

"Shouldn't that be his problem, not yours?"

"I guess," Zach says. "I'm a grown man, I don't have to defend my decisions to anyone anymore. It's done anyway, if he's disappointed, he can go to hell, or whatever."

"There are a lot worse routes through teenage rebellion than not playing hockey," Stef points out.

"Yeah, he should be grateful I didn't, I dunno, form a punk rock band or whatever."

"Nah, you saved that fun for your twenties. That meant he didn't have to listen to you practice."

"Yeah."

Stef, who's got a gift for finding the right question asks, "If his not understanding why is so important, then why did you quit?"

Zach smiles sadly. "I'm not sure I know."

Stef laughs at him, which is only fair. They were going to talk about music and catch up before Zach started having feelings all over the place.

"I'm glad my life is so amusing to you," Zach says, sarcastically, but he really does mean it. If he has to live through this mess, he's glad somebody's getting a good laugh out of it. The laughter is enough to break him out of his melancholy, allowing them to move onto other topics.

Later that night Zach's trying to finish a song with Stef. He's fully focused on the work, counting syllables and looping recordings but his concentration had given his collaborator's mind a chance to wander. Zach gets pulled out of the project by Stef asking, "Did you quit because of the queer thing?”

Zach really hates that question. It was the first thing Jordan asked him after he came out. He had a hard time answering then, and hasn't gotten much better.

Stef says, "Most of what I know about hockey culture came from watching Slap Shot, but I bet that sucked."

"That might have been part of it," Zach admits. "But I was fifteen when I quit sports; I wasn't aware enough for it to be a problem. If I'd stuck with it for a few more years it could have been. I don't think I could have handled being discrete so well."

"That would have been bad. I don't know how you get people to sleep with you now; I don't see how you could get anywhere if you had to be subtle."

"Well, it's a good thing I quit then," Zach says.

"Yeah, so instead of being queer in hockey you decided to be queer in rap music. Because that's so much easier."

Zach shrugs. "What can I say, I'm a glutton for punishment."


	12. Answering Machine, take three

Phone calls Zach doesn’t take:

Ryan, accidentally.

Zach wishes he had answered the phone when Ryan called. He wasn’t even busy. He had earbuds in and didn’t hear it ring. Ryan says he’s back in town, and thinks they should make plans. He says that they, “should do something in the city, in the snow, because the snow is the city. The cities are their weather.” Then he apologized for calling after a couple of drinks.

Zach doesn’t mind at all. He wants to hear Ryan ramble about the importance of geography and climate. He wants to start arguments that never end, about which streets have the worst traffic, and at what point potholes can be considered landmarks. When he’s with Ryan it feels like they’re in the middle of a conversation that can last forever. He isn’t sure what this means yet, but he’s pretty sure it’s a good sign.

Oceans Away, 3 A.M.

Jordan calls in the middle of the night. Zach’s still awake, working on a new song, but he doesn’t pick up, because that isn’t what they do. It doesn’t matter that he’d enjoy the conversation. They don’t answer the phone calls in the middle of the night. That isn’t who they are.

Jordan doesn’t have much to say. Just, “Hey, I hope you’re getting a good night’s sleep. I hope your tour went well, and that you’re settling in alright. Mom’s happy to have you home again. She couldn’t stop gushing. I swear, if she put as much effort into world conquering as she puts into putting meat on your bones the planet would be a better place.”

He should be a better brother. When they were young Jordan always stood up to people who didn't approve of Zach's life choices. He stood strong when the doubters were their parents, who only wanted the best for Zach, and who couldn't believe that the best that didn't include hockey. He struck out when the doubters were kids at school who saw Zach's noncompliance with their narrow worldview as an aberration that had to be punished. Zach’s lucky to have such a brother like this.

Somedays he has to remember, that really, despite its defects, his family is a beautiful thing.

Family: that’s what’s important, right? Like, he believes this, but sometimes it’s a hard belief to live by. He’s trying.

His Father, all the time.

Only really never, because they don’t call each other. But he’s always expecting a call, and he knows he won’t answer. He is always preparing himself for the questions his father could ask.Why did he quit hockey, why can’t he meet a nice girl, why does he want to sleep with other men, why isn’t he everything he could have been. He doesn’t know.

No one has asked him these questions, not his father, not anyone else. These are questions he asks himself, everyday. Every word he writes is an answer to these questions. It will never be enough.

Everyone, Ever

He thinks about his answering machine too much. He grants the messages left too much symbolic importance because he looks at his life through the lense of local rock songs from the 1980s. (That isn’t anything he planned to do. He just happened to listen to Let It Be a few thousand times, more than enough to warp the way he looks at the world.)

In 1984 Paul Westerberg sang, “How do you say you’re ok to an answering machine?”

Nobody knows.

“How do you say I’m lonely to an answering machine?”

Nobody knows.

There isn’t an answer. The Replacements posed the question to the world twenty-six years ago. Since then answering systems and phone technology in general have taken great leaps forward, but nothing can make machines human. They still can’t answer back, can’t say, “I love you too,” or “everything is alright,” or whatever affirmation is appropriate.

When Zach doesn’t answer his phone he’s forcing man-machine interaction by taking his own reactions out of the equation. He can listen to messages as many times as he wants, to come up with the best response possible. Or he can just ignore it completely, delete the recording and move on with his day. This is something he choses to do, because it makes life simpler.

He would like to live a simpler life, theoretically. In practice his choices lead to complications. Playing music is a complication. Being friends with Ryan is a complication. In the long run, avoiding people’s phone calls is a complication, but it is a complication he choses.

The song ends with the words, “I hate your answering machine.” Zach can emphasize with this sentiment to a point, understanding other people’s frustration, but really, he doesn’t want to talk about any of this stuff. He doesn’t want to talk about anything. What he wants to do is play music, and be happy, and get his bike fixed before the snow melts.


	13. M I N N E S O T A

TEAM THE BEST TEAM

Moving to Minnesota felt like landing on a team that really had their shit together. Maybe not a team that won all the time, but one that functioned like family, which is fine. Zach quit organized sports because he realized he'd always choose happiness over victory.

The band in Jersey was good, really fucking good. He normally doesn't think about that because it hurts less to undersell, to say they were shit, and that's why things didn't work out. That's easier than admitting to himself that there wasn’t a real reason, it just happened to happen this way. Zach is really proud of their last record, but it had terrible distribution. Maybe if they'd been on a bigger label it would have gone somewhere, but it's too late for speculation. They had opportunity, they had talent, but in the fashion of Minnesota favorite sons they managed to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory.

They were never an easy sell; the world would rather fawn over L.A. idols with a romantic backstory than give a second listen to New Jersey punks who need a shower. It doesn’t matter anymore. Minnesota is his home.

Really, he moved back to this stupid state—state of hypnosis, stasis state, _motherfucking State of Hockey_ —because it's where his family is. It was a good career move, but that has never been how he's made decisions. Minneapolis has a great scene but he could have moved to New York or L.A. or even, like, Pittsburgh and had the same opportunities. If he had cared about his career he wouldn't have spent years touring with a punk band that clearly wasn't going anywhere impressive. Hell, if he cared about having a career he never would have been a musician. He never chose a career, it was just something that happened to him. He chose to do something creative with his life and music was the consequence.

He chose Minnesota. It was a conscious decision, even if he's still struggling to understand the reasoning. It was a good career move; the old man isn't getting any younger, who knows how long he'll stay alive; he missed living in place with such strong seasons. He was very tired and wanted to go home.

Being at home is a wonderful feeling. Even on the worst days, when he is full of doubt and freezing to the bone, there's something in the air, an essence exhaled from the trees, that is telling him that he belongs here. If he keeps on breathing this air he'll never be able to leave.

#

News

Zach picks Ryan up for an adventure one cold evening. It’s the first time their free days have overlapped well in ages. Zach hasn’t spent much time over here. Ryan’s condo on the edge of downtown Saint Paul is nice, uncomfortably so. The building’s swanky, but the interior’s lacking any distinct personal touches. He pokes around the living room, while Ryan adds another layer of clothing to prepare himself for the great outdoors.

There’s a copy of the Star Tribune’s sports section sitting on the coffee table. He opens it expecting to learn about the Timberwolves ineptitude. It takes him a moment to notice it’s an issue from the middle of July. It’s open to an article about Ryan signing with the Wild. The first line is, “It’s not like Ryan Suter could do anything else.”

The article lists Ryan’s relatives in the game: his father, his uncle Gary, his brother, a cousin. “All defensemen. Can you see trying to fit in at a holiday gathering if you were a forward? ‘He’d be disowned,’ Gary joked,” but Zach knows journalists can’t be trusted to correctly convey tone.

The next adverb increases his skepticism.

“But seriously, this is a family tradition. Grandpa Marlowe Suter plated semi-pro hockey before coaching sons Gary and Bob. He was a defenseman. From an early age Suters learn that playing D means playing more minutes. In a sport where so often young, talented players are pushed to the forward position, Suter stayed on the back end.”

It’s a solid paragraph of history and expectations. The whole article is based on this special kind of bullshit which Zach has spent a his life running away from, and bad journalism to boot.

Ryan’s dad is quoted next, saying, “This is generations now.”

This article understands hockey as a gift in Ryan’s blood; Zach used to see it as a disease. He ran away, looking for a cure. Both views are wrong, playing hockey is just a thing that people sometimes do. It isn’t something you’re born with.

It makes it seem like destiny that Ryan is playing hockey, playing defense, and playing in the midwest. It makes it seem inevitable.

Only Zach knows that isn’t true, because he walked out on what wanted to be his destiny.

His pedigree isn’t quite as impressive, but it still stalked him, and he still quit hockey. He walked out on fate. He said hell no. He could have played, maybe he would have been great. That’s something that could have happened to him, but instead he chose to do something else. No one can say if he made a good decision or not, but it was his decision. His decision to not play hockey was a decision to make more decisions about his life, to take a proactive role.

This isn’t breaking news. It’s old news, literally, a newspaper from six months ago. It’s breakable news. Ryan comes back into the room, with another hoodie under his coat, and the scarf Zach gave him looped around his neck. Zach puts the paper down, ready to walk away from it and its interventionist take on reality.

#

 

Gold Medal Flour.

Winter is in its last hurrah. It’s a proper Minnesota March with ice and accumulation. It seems like the perfect time to take Ryan sightseeing outside, at night while the city is deserted, still and perfect. They can handle the cold.

He parks near the river, where Minneapolis sprawls onto the East bank of the Mississippi. They bundle up in the car, scarves and hats and mittens designed to seal in heat, before they venture towards the water.

Zach hadn't remembered the area around the Stone Arch Bridge being so romantic, but the last time he had been there he'd been a kid in awe of the aquatennial fireworks, and things could have changed a lot since then. He doesn't know if he would have suggested this for the latest Twin Cities exploration destination with Ryan if he had know what it would be like.

They walk out onto the bridge to get a better look at Saint Anthony falls. Saint Anthony is the patron saint of lost things. Zach knows where he is geographically, but he could use some direction on a more metaphysical scale. Maybe being here will help.

The evening is quiet. The softly falling snow is a clean sheet thrown over the winter's dirty slush. The Guthrie is a bold blue block beside the river, the Endless Bridge an awkward appendage reaching into the sky. Any stars are obscured by clouds and light pollution, but the night is brightened as the Gold Medal Flour sign rotates which words are illuminated, competing with the Grain Belt marquee across the river. The downtown skyline looms in the background and the new 35W bridge glows downstream.

They lean against a railing to watch the river. There are chunks of ice at the edges, but the current is still a strong and visible in the center. Ryan bumps his shoulder into Zach's, like a full body fist bump, just to say hey, I'm here. Zach doesn't know why he leans into it. It isn't stupidly cold out, but the warmth he finds pressing his side against Ryan makes him shiver.

The view is breathtaking.

“What would you do if I kissed you,” Ryan asks. His voice is even, like it’s another conversation about the weather.

Zach doubts he projects the same level of calm when he says, “I’d kiss you back.”

They aren’t looking at each other, they’re both looking at the river rushing by. Ryan shoves Zach with his shoulder, which makes their eyes meet.

“So, are you going to kiss me now?” Zach asks.

Ryan smiles slightly and says, “No. Maybe in a little bit.”

That’s alright. There’s a plan now, for kissing in the future, which is better than plans that don’t include any kissing at all. Kissing can wait for them in the future while in the now they stand shoulder to shoulder and watch snow fall into the Mississippi.

They can’t stay like that for too long though, because it’s cold outside, and the forecast predicts heavy accumulation. They’ll want to get to wherever it is they’re going before that prediction is realized. They spend a few more minutes looking at the water and the sky, before the wind gets to be too much. They leave the bridge, taking steps forward towards the future where they kiss.

When they get to the car Zach turns the heat on high, doing all it can to chase away the chill. He’s preoccupied with the dials, and doesn’t notice Ryan leaning in from the passenger seat.

Ryan kisses him and he kisses back. It's hot and soft, a promise. They've been playing with this possibility for a long time, but now they're committed to finding out what their flirtation could be.

They stop kissing but don't really pull apart. The aren’t going to talk about it, at least not yet. They talk about the weather outside, not the weather in their heads.

Zach isn’t sure what he’d say. This isn’t an eventuality he ever planned for, or even imagined. He never once thought, _I should really move back to my hometown and fall for a hockey player, and let myself get sucked back into a world I ran away from._ The way things progressed with Ryan involved very little conscious thought, he just let it happen.

If he was a more believing man he could say it’s destiny. If he was a fatalist he would say it’s meant to be, that finding Ryan in the Twin Cities would happen no matter what. There’s a nagging suspicion that it’s fate; predestination would explain how this happy new beginning came to be of its own accord.

Zach doesn’t care.

He doesn’t need an explanation. He doesn’t _want_ an explanation. This is how his life has happened to him, and it’s pretty great.

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT 9/24/13
> 
> I found this in my email, a fragment from when I was writing this so I thought should stick it here as a bonus.
> 
> Zach is a poor excuse for a rapper. His skills are solid and his form is excellent, but he still doesn't think he's much of a rapper. He's unconvinced that he has the right personality to be a rapper.
> 
> At the root this self perception is the question what is a rapper?
> 
> It seems like the answer should be a person who raps, but you should be able to define a word without using it in another form. So what is rapping? Speaking rhythmically over beats is a beginning, but includes a too expansive field. Going from such a slight definition most hard core punks and Craig Finn are all rappers, which simply isn't true.
> 
> Zach wants to declare  
> I rap therefore I am a rapper  
> But that sounds like bullshit, and he didn't start out planning on rapping, he started putting some spoken word pieces to music and rap is what happened.


End file.
